


Fallen angels in the night

by sirona



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Backstory, Bucky Barnes likes waltzing into people's lives, F/M, Female Friendship, Half-Siblings, M/M, Multi, Natasha is the most badass, Peggy POV, Russia, Steve & Tony bffs, The Red Room, also explicit gay sex but who warns for that anymore, angst (resolved), but so is Peggy, death of parents (background), explicit het sex, guilty parties, hbic, it's 4am and author has issues with tags, ot3 fixes everything, past child abuse (non-graphic), perceived abandonment, perceived infidelity, so much love, the Red Room didn't know what hit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve Rogers is blissfully happy with Peggy Carter, until his old flame waltzes into town like nothing ever happened. Emotions run rife, but luckily Peggy is the Queen of fixing things. Now if only she can stop staring at said old flame, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen angels in the night

**Author's Note:**

> A gazillion thanks are due to Pollyrepeat and Lanyon for sticking with this story and holding my hand for _close to a year_ while I dithered and had several breakdowns about it and didn't think it would ever end. They are so, so wonderful. Love you, guys.

Peggy pushed open the door to the cafe with a sigh of relief. It wasn't even six pm, but the cafe was already bursting at the seams, students crowded around small tables, skinny knees bumping, elbows vying for space with laptops and legal pads, the odd library book lying open amongst them. The StarkPad had always been a hit with the students, since before its owner had been a student, too, though for very different reasons -- since it used to be plain old Stark's, belonged to this Stark's progenitor and sold not caffeine but other types of intoxicants. It used to be the 'old boys' place of choice, too -- the kind of bar that had regulars, whose tall bar stools had never used to cool in between backsides sliding over them to warm them. 

Really, the very _worst_ kind of place for a young kid to inherit, sixteen-years-old and shellshocked by the loss of both his parents, so sunk in grief that he couldn't tell his arse from his elbow. A kid who had blindly turned to his father's old partner, trusting him more out of habit than common sense, and it had almost cost him everything. It had taken a stint in rehab, the old dinosaur Stane suffering a heart attack severe enough to scare him into quitting the booze and moving across the country to warmer climes, and Tony meeting Pepper Potts, businesswoman and attorney-at-law extraordinaire, for him to find the courage to use his genius-level intellect and see the way forward to running this place. He'd closed it for six months while he renovated it, applied for a change of purpose, got rid of Stane's lawyers with enough money that this place _really_ needed to kick off if it wanted to survive, and in between battling with contractors and wading his way through mountains of paperwork, earned his PhD in Applied Sciences. 

Peggy _liked_ Tony Stark. Not least, because he'd given a brilliant but struggling art student a job that paid well enough so he could afford his tuition and not have to sleep on the street.

"Hey, Queen Peggy, how's your tail shaking?" Tony yelled as soon as he saw her, sending her one of his trademark blinding grins and beckoning her over with an expansive swoop of his arm. "Good to see ya. Your boy's been pining something awful today."

"Jesus, Tony, keep your trap shut, will you?"

Peggy startled at the utterly foreign edge in Steve's usually soothing voice. "Um," she said. Steve popped up from behind the counter like a giant human-shaped meerkat, face already creasing with guilt. "I can come back?"

"No," Steve said, so quickly he talked right over the end of her sentence. "No, Peggy, please don't go."

Peggy shared a bewildered look with Tony, who clearly had no idea what was going on, either. 

"Okay," she said carefully, much like she would if Steve were a wild, wary animal posed to bite or dash away. "Are you quite all right, love?"

Steve sighed. He looked tired, drawn. Dispirited. Peggy couldn't stifle the pang of worry anymore.

"Yeah," Steve said. He clearly wasn't, but he just as clearly wanted to pretend he was, so Peggy bit her tongue and smiled encouragingly. She fought to keep it on her face when Steve wouldn't quite meet her eye. 

"Excuse me," said a loud, obnoxious voice from the direction of the till. "Can we, like, get some service here?"

Tony bristled all over, but Steve dropped the rag he'd been twisting between his fingers like it was on fire. 

"I'll go," he said quickly. Peggy and Tony watched him practically run away from them towards the entitled little tosser, jaw tight in profile. 

"He isn't okay," Tony declared, like he was daring Peggy to contradict him.

'No shit,' Peggy wanted to snap, or, 'You reckon?!' But Tony was only trying to be helpful, and she just hadn't the heart. Besides, it wasn't Tony who was throwing her well off-balance. 

"No," she agreed. "He isn't."

They watched as Steve spoke to the twerp at the till, and made his friends' coffees with quick, jerky motions. They also saw the leader of the gaggle of teenagers think about making a snide remark, catch the look on Steve's face and change his mind. 

"Did something happen?" Peggy asked quietly. 

Tony shook his head. "He's been like this all day. Was he okay when you left this morning?"

Peggy opened her mouth to automatically say 'yes, of course'; then stopped herself, and really thought about the question. Recalled the sad, haunted look in Steve's eyes as she kissed him goodbye, mind already on the staff meeting with the other editors, her appointment after lunch with a promising writer. 

"No," she made herself admit. "I don't think he was, but I didn't--" 

She cut off her excuses, sick and furious with herself for not noticing -- or worse, noticing and ignoring the signs. 

Tony smiled sympathetically. She didn't need to explain -- he knew full well what it was like to be so wrapped up in your work that you didn't notice the people around you. 

The kids left, and they watched Steve look around a little desperately, like he was hoping there would be something else to keep him from walking back to the two of them. Peggy tried really hard not to feel hurt. Whatever Steve was going through, it obviously wasn't about her.

Out of any other options, Steve slunk back to their corner, head down, avoiding their eyes.

"Seriously, Captain Tightpants, we're worried. What's going on? Are you in trouble or something? Have you sunk neck-deep with the loan sharks? Got a girl pregnant that isn't the one standing right here and looking like she's about to smash my face in?"

Steve didn't even bother to scowl at Tony -- a bad sign at any time, let alone now, with things going on that neither of them had even an inkling about looming over them.

"Okay, I'm officially concerned now, you're ignoring me, you never ignore me. Oh my god, you aren't about to get your knees shot out because you owe money to the Russian mob, are you?"

For some reason, Steve flinched hard at the last part, like Tony had sworn at him. Tony was not the only one who was panicking now.

"Steve?" Peggy said, appalled at how frantic her voice came out.

Steve winced again. "I'm sorry, guys. You don't need to worry about me, I promise. I'm fine. I'm just..." He sighed, and pursed his lips like something ached inside him. "I lost someone, a long time ago today. It's been years, but. I guess I never really got over it."

"Oh, love," Peggy said, placing a hand on Steve's arm. She felt almost faint with relief when Steve didn't shrug her off.

"Was it...family who died?" Tony asked with a kind of warmth he rarely let the world see.

Steve smiled; but it was a sad little thing, with a twist of bitterness that had Peggy gritting her teeth against the urge to hug the living hell out of him. Nothing like his usual bright grins that left you breathless, like a blast of sunshine when you had just crawled your way out of a cave.

"Oh, he didn't die," he said in what he was probably hoping was nonchalance, but missed the mark by a mile. "He just left." The 'me', remained unsaid, yet loud and clear at the end of that sentence, sharp like an icicle through the chest.

" _Oh,_ " Tony breathed, darting a glance at Peggy. She shrugged. She'd known Steve wasn't exclusively fond of women from the start. That one photograph she'd found buried deep in his closet cleared up a few things, too -- Steve, still young and skinny and so breathtakingly happy in that moment, with his arm around another boy with a grin sharp enough to cut yourself on, eyes heavy-lidded and deep: burning, ominous eyes. She'd known the second she'd seen the snapshot that she wasn't Steve's first love, not by a long shot. (She was okay with that. More than okay; she was just happy she got to have him now, one of the most open-minded men of her acquaintance.)

Steve shrugged and looked down. Peggy speared Tony with a sharp glare.

"N-not that there's _anything_ wrong with that, cast not the first stone, et cetera. I'm just--surprised, I guess. I never--"

"Suspected?" Steve supplied for him, something ugly in his voice that left a bad taste in Peggy's mouth.

"Come on, it's not like that and you know it. In fact, if I'd known earlier, I might've taken a crack at you myself--but there's our women, who might both skin us alive -- or worse, ask to watch."

"Damn straight," Peggy said, relieved to see a little bit of lightness return to Steve's face. He smiled at her, sweet as always, just a touch of shyness that never failed to make her heart sing.

Which was when the coffee shop's door opened, and cheerful voices filled the room, bringing with them a hint of the rain that had just started to dampen the pavement outside.

\---

"Please."

"Steve, babe--"

" _Please_ , Buck. Please don't go."

"Darlin', you--god, you know I love you. You're my best friend, my--my _everything_. I just, I gotta do this, pal. I--I have to. ...Look, you can't possibly--You don't get it. You don't get what it's like, Steve. Fuck, my Mom's _gone_ , everything's just... gone. I have no one now."

"Jesus, Bucky, you know that's not true. You have me, you have my Mom and Dad, too. They love you like a son, you know that. Please don't leave. You don't know these people; what if they're not even there anymore? What if you get there and you can't reach them? You'll be stranded in Russia, all--"

"Fuck it, come on, say it-- _all alone_. No use sugarcoating it for me; that's what I'll be, that's what I am -- _alone_. The rest is just geography."

"Bucky. You don't--you can't mean that. Don't you know--you're _everything_ to me, too."

"Look, I just--I can't right now, Steve. I gotta go, my plane leaves in two hours. I'll write you as soon as I get my bearings, I promise. I _promise_ , Steve. I'm not leaving you, I swear."

"Then why does it feel like you are?"

\---

"Wow, this place has changed! Sorry, doesn't look like a beer's on the cards anymore, but the coffee smells pretty damn fantastic, wanna try it?"

The man was tall, slim but not skinny -- wiry, muscles bunching under the sleeves of his sweatshirt. His drawl, even though it sounded like he grew up just down the road, was laced with the hint of an accent that warmed it, made Peggy want to hear more of that voice. The man's face was turned away from them, towards his companions -- a stunning woman with hair like red flames dancing around her face and an older man, innocuous-looking but for the keen intelligence shining from his dark blue eyes. The two of them stood close, easy in each other's space like two people who were used to touching; they made a striking couple. 

The woman nodded with a faint smile. "Sure, I would like that." Her accent was heavy and purring, and it dawned on Peggy what she was hearing in the first man's voice.

The man turned then, and Peggy could not help the reflexive lift of one eyebrow. He was... well, he was _gorgeous_. Strong jaw, beautifully shaped mouth, eyes shaded by long black lashes. Something about his face twigged her memory, made her wonder why it seemed so familiar when she was sure she had never seen him before. Maybe he just had one of those faces?

"Holy crap," Tony murmured appreciatively at her side, clearly in tune with Peggy's thoughts. She felt her lips twitch, and turned to share a smile with Steve--but it never made it to her lips.

Steve stood frozen to the spot, face paler than she had ever seen it. For a surreal moment, she felt like she should prop him up, afraid he might drop clean to the floor -- he was trembling, ever-so-slightly, a fine vibration that was only evident in his shoulders that did not seem able to stay still. 

"Steve?" she whispered, suddenly afraid. On her other side, she felt Tony take a step closer, like he, too, had felt the wave of shock that Steve radiated. 

Steve did not look at her. He was staring across the room, right at the man who seemed so hauntingly familiar. Peggy followed his gaze, only to see the same expression echoed on the stranger's face, eyes startled and wide, mouth open, words drying on his tongue. 

"Steve?" the man whispered, stunned disbelief in his voice.

Steve--shook. He slammed a hand on the counter before him like it was the only thing keeping him upright, like his knees had suddenly refused to hold him. Tony made an abortive movement towards him, like he could hold him up, and Peggy -- Peggy wanted to -- she didn't know what. Something, anything to break this impasse. Fear laced through her like she had rarely felt before -- because her world was shifting right before her eyes, she knew it without knowing how.

Steve opened his mouth, but closed it again without a word falling out. He turned sharply and stalked out of the door to the kitchen, movements jerky with anger. Peggy wanted to go after him, but--she did not dare. There was something forbidding about Steve like this, something that encouraged caution. 

She would follow, of course she would. He was clearly upset, and she'd always want to help make that go away. For now, though, he needed the space; she knew that, too.

So she did the next best thing: she turned, and speared the intruder with a glare. He did not seem to notice; he was staring at the door that swung closed behind Steve's back, face blank and lost. Behind him, his companions exchanged a worried look, clearly just as confused as Peggy and Tony. 

"You know this guy?" Tony asked her quietly, a tone in his voice that assured her he was ready to reach for the metaphorical shotgun.

"No," Peggy answered, despite the niggling suspicion that she _should_.

"James?" the red-haired woman said, low and husky, head tilted in question. 'James.' Didn't ring any bells for Peggy...

James visibly shook himself, slipping a smirk on his face that Peggy could tell even from where she was standing was as fake as a chocolate dollar.

"A blast from the past," James said, voice devoid of the easy confidence that had been there before. "Sorry, guys. I... I think we should go."

"Of course," the other man murmured, stepping closer so he and the woman flanked James' back like an honour guard. His eyes still cased the room assessingly, like he was weighing threat levels; that, more than anything, gave Peggy a hint as to what his profession must be.

The woman stepped closer to James and whispered something in his ear. James looked haunted, and then nodded, eyes falling closed and face twisting before he turned away and headed for the door. The woman's face was expressionless when she stepped back to let him pass, and then fell into step with him, but something about her gave Peggy pause, a hint of leashed menace that sent chills down her back. The three of them exited the cafe with no more than a whisper of sound, the tinkle of the bell over the door, but the deafening silence they left behind was noise enough.

"O-kay," Tony said, baffled and concerned. "So that happened. Do we know what actually happened? Because I sure as fuck don't, but if those two don't know each other I'll eat that cleaning rag."

Peggy couldn't do much more than nod. There was no doubt in her mind that they did. The only question was, why did Steve look like someone had died rather than seeing a friend again? Steve was a mellow kind of guy, unless someone foolishly evoked his temper; he was patient, and kind, and generous with his time, and loyal to a fault, and Peggy had never seen him look like that at anyone else. Whatever had happened between the two of them, emotions obviously ran deep under both their skins.

Tony nudged her gently with his shoulder. The skin around his eyes was tight when Peggy turned to look at him. Whatever else Tony Stark might be, once he had decided to let you over the line that separated him from the world, you became a part of him in a way that was humbling to realise. He most certainly did not do things halfway, and now he was worried, deeply so. 

"Go check on our boy," he said, almost begging, and Peggy gave him a strained smile, patted his arm as she passed him. She didn't need prompting twice.

Steve wasn't in the kitchen when she peeked through the door before walking into the room properly. The far counter was dusted with flour, and a bowl lay turned over on its side, forgotten. Steps in the white powder led to the back door, which was propped open, letting in air tinged with moisture from the back alley. When Peggy poked her head out, she found Steve sitting on top of a couple of crates that served as a place to take the weight off your feet for a couple of minutes on your break. He was curled in on himself, face in his hands. He looked... He looked like he was in pain.

"Steve?" she said cautiously.

Steve jerked, turning his head away, like he was ashamed to be seen like this. 

"Peggy. I'm sorry, can you just... I can't do this right now."

Peggy swallowed, and fought with herself not to flinch. _It wasn't about her._

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," she said, low and easy. She wasn't leaving him like this, though, not unless he told her in no uncertain terms to go. She walked slowly up to him, stood there, almost but not quite touching, waiting, hoping.

With a whimper that made her ache, Steve uncurled from his ball of despair and tugged her closer, burying his face in her stomach, arms going around her and holding her tight, like she was his lifeline. She stroked her fingers through his hair, curled one hand over his shoulder, held him to her like she could take away the misery she could feel coming off of him in waves. She didn't push him, and he didn't speak, not for a long, long time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in the end. "I know I made you and Tony worry, and I'm sorry."

Peggy shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "No need. We were just-- we don't like to see you in pain."

Steve muffled a sob in her silk shirt, clung to her even harder for a second before he shook his head, too, rubbing his mouth over her belly. He pulled back a little, enough to look away past her. 

"I shouldn't even..." he choked angrily. "I don't even know why I still care. He never wrote, he never called, he--he said he wouldn't, but he _left_ me."

And just like that, the pieces fell into place inside Peggy's head, making her fingers flex on Steve's skin in realisation.

"Was that--" she blurted, and immediately regretted it -- but Steve didn't flinch, didn't push her away.

"James Buchanan Barnes," he confirmed, a bitter note in his voice that she had never heard before. " _Bucky_ Barnes, to me -- at least, he used to be."

Now that Peggy knew, it was easy to work out why the man looked so familiar -- he was a twelve-years-older version of the boy in that photo, the one who had looked so happy to stand at Steve's side with his arm around the skinny shoulders. The fire in his eyes had been tempered, but it was still there, if you knew where to look.

She knew anything she could say would be superfluous, inadequate. So she just held Steve closer, let her touch tell him that nothing had changed between them, not if he didn't want it to. Let it tell him how much she loved him, how much she ached just because he did.

Eventually, he pulled back from her hold, trying to wipe his eyes surreptitiously. Her front felt damp, but she wouldn't mention it if he didn't. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said again, and this time, she couldn't help it; she hooked her forefinger under his chin, lifted his face to hers. 

"Don't," she said quietly, looking right into sky-blue eyes slightly red around the rims. "Steve, don't apologise for having feelings."

"I don't--" he tried to argue, but she let her gaze sharpen, one of her eyebrows lift. 

"He was your friend, and a lot more, besides. You're allowed to feel off-balance. I'm not going to resent you for it, or think any less of you. I love you, you idiot."

Steve's face crumpled, just a little. "I love you, too," he said, a touch hoarse, looking so heartbreakingly grateful that Peggy couldn't fight the urge any longer -- she pressed forward, kissed him softly, wanting to take away everything that made those lovely eyes so sad, but knowing it wasn't in her power.

"Anything you need," she whispered against his lips instead. " _Anything_ you need, love."

He looked at her with such worship in his gaze that it made her heart turn over. "I don't deserve you," he murmured, and this time when she closed the distance between them, she nipped his lip sharply in reproach. He jerked, then melted against her, tugging her closer until she was sitting in his lap and he was kissing her with a lot more passion, a lot less restraint than before. That was more like it.

"O-kay, I'm guessing everything is alright then, sorry I--holy shit, Carter, you firecracker," Tony babbled from the doorway, and they finally separated, Steve's face pink, his eyes bright. The storm, it seemed, had passed for the moment.

"Get back inside, you voyeur," Steve admonished dryly, and Tony cackled, sending them a relieved look before ducking back through the door.

"I'll see you at home?" Peggy asked as Steve let her go and she straightened, patting a hand down her clothes.

"Yeah," Steve said, smiling a dimmer version of his usual smile. "I'll be back around eight."

"I'll make Bolognaise," she confided, and watched his smile widen a little. "Ask Tony and Pepper around, if you want."

"Okay," Steve said easily, kissing her once more before following Tony inside the shop. 

Peggy waited a few moments, to make sure he wasn't coming back, before she let her smile fade and her forehead scrunch like it wanted to. This was far from over, not if she had any say. It was beyond-obvious how much Steve still cared about his friend, how unhappy the whole thing still made him. She had no choice -- she would try to fix it, because that's what she did; because seeing Steve unhappy made something inside her clench tight and pound. 

She could only hope that, were she to be successful, it wouldn't result in her being the one to lose Steve instead.

\---

Days passed, then weeks, and Peggy watched Steve get more and more withdrawn. Oh, he tried to hide it, and he was good at pretending, but the very fact that he felt the need to play at everything being fine told Peggy more than enough about how much it wasn't. She tried not to worry, tried to give Steve space to work through whatever issues Bucky's sudden reappearance had thrown up, but it was becoming increasingly obvious, every time Steve couldn't quite meet her gaze, that it wasn't working. Worse, it was driving a wedge between them, and that Peggy couldn't let stand. 

It was in that state of mental turmoil that Pepper's call found her, and she didn't hesitate to accept the offer of a friendly ear to bounce a few things off of.

She wondered just how close Pepper kept her ear to the ground when she walked into her favourite restaurant and almost turned around to leave again, when she saw who sat at the table next to her friend. But Pepper's face was open and guileless when she stood to kiss Peggy's cheek, and the already-familiar red-headed woman looked just as surprised and vaguely uncomfortable as Peggy. There was not even a hint of the menace that Peggy had felt from her the last time they had seen each other; she looked like any other slightly socially-awkward young woman meeting a friend of a friend for the first time. Peggy could do little but shrug internally and nod to her in greeting, too curious to find out what the connection between her and Pepper Potts, Chair in Commercial Law at the nearby university.

Pepper, always too shrewd by half, looked between them with dawning realisation. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you two knew each other. Natalia just arrived in town, and I have taken it upon myself to make sure she meets some decent people before all the assholes start converging on her. Margaret Carter -- Natalia Romanova-Coulson." 

Natalia sent Peggy the most penetrating look she had ever been subject to. Peggy didn't squirm, but only because her grandmother was still Queen of that look and the scariest woman Peggy knew -- and she'd cut her eye-teeth standing up to her. After a moment, Natalia's look softened, tinged the tiniest bit with something Peggy couldn't name. 

"My friends call me Natasha," Natasha offered, along with her hand. There was something -- almost timid about her now, tentative, although Peggy would bet half of her inheritance that people underestimated this woman all the time -- at their peril.

"And mine call me Peggy," Peggy returned, taking her hand without hesitation. Small, fine bones, but her grip was solid, controlled, perfectly aware of its own strength. Oh, yes, this woman was not all she seemed. "And no, Pepper, we don't actually know each other. Natasha came into the cafe with her--with two of her friends the other week, but we didn't get a chance to speak."

Natasha's eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Peggy would swear she was holding back amusement, behind that rigid self-control. Her eyes caught Peggy's, and there was a twinkle in them that said she knew what Peggy had seen -- and was inviting her to share.

"My apologies over our hasty exit last time. My--I guess James wasn't prepared to walk right into some of his personal ghosts."

Peggy blinked, and tried to decide how to take that. Was it an insult? If so, to whom? And what ought her reaction to be? But there was that twist of Natasha's mouth again, and there was no mocking in her voice, only chagrin. Peggy had lived her life by instinct for as long as she could remember, and something inside her connected with this woman, liked what she had seen of her so far. She could laugh at herself, at the absurdities she saw around her, and that was all too rare a quality. Peggy could afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

"Is James your--" Peggy trailed off, unsure of the term her mind wanted to tag onto that sentence. Of course she had heard Natasha's double-barreled surname, and there had been the other man with them that time, but there had also been a strange intimacy in the way she interacted with Barnes. Peggy had learned better than to assume.

She had hesitated too long, and by the widening of Natasha's eyes, she could see some of what was going on inside Peggy's head. 

"Oh," she burst out, waving a hand before her face. "Oh, no, God, no. James is..." She hesitated, eyes searching Peggy's face. Peggy had no idea what she hoped to find there, but apparently that didn't mean it wasn't present. Natasha smiled faintly. 

"James Barnes is my half-brother," she said, easy like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"Oh," Peggy breathed, impressions slotting into place. "So you must be--" 'whom he left Steve over' was at the tip of her tongue, but it sounded--wrong, incomplete. She didn't have the whole story, not by a long shot -- only the bare bones, hints she'd gathered from Steve's throw-away remarks, apparently still too raw to revisit that particular strand of his past. And besides, she didn't have the right -- she barely knew this woman, and Natasha had no reason to confide in a stranger.

The smile on Natasha's face dimmed and deepened at the same time, a dichotomy Peggy hadn't known the human face could achieve.

"That's a story for another time," she deferred, and Peggy could do little but nod and try not to blush too hard at being caught out.

Pepper, who had watched the exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, deemed it appropriate to speak again. 

"Natasha is the new Russian History professor at the college. She also takes some Military History classes." 

"How fascinating," Peggy murmured, her breeding rising to the fore and letting her appear composed while her mind flashed from clue to clue, making connections -- but she was also genuinely intrigued, and she meant the words wholeheartedly. Natasha Romanova-Coulson would be a most exciting addition to their little group, and getting to know her would be _fun_.

"Natasha, I told you that Peggy is a book editor, right? Natasha is writing a book on the Crimean war and how it shifted politics in Russia, Peggy, you can show it to your friend Erik when it's done, right?"

Natasha smothered a laugh, throwing Peggy a conspiratory look. 

"Stop pimping us out to each other, Pepper, or at least let the poor woman order a drink, if you're going to keep at it," she said, amused fondness weaving through her husky voice. Clearly, the two were well on the way to becoming fast friends. 

Pepper grinned unapologetically, but she did flag down a waiter and ordered Peggy a gin and tonic without asking. Hell, it was bound to be after five o'clock somewhere in the world -- it sure was back in Oxford. Peggy shrugged and took a hefty swallow when it arrived. 

"So," Pepper said, crossing her legs with a whisper of silk and turning an intent look on Natasha. "Now that the pleasantries are taken care of, I'm afraid I'm going to quiz you until you're heartily sick of me. You can tell me to fuck off if you need to, but I must know. Who is that hunk with the glasses who keeps bringing you lunch?"

Natasha looks startled for a long moment, before dissolving into peals of unrestrained laughter. It was a catchy sound, invited you to laugh along with her. Peggy couldn't keep back an answering smile. 

"Oh, I'm going to tell him you said that," she gasped in between giggles. "He has trouble believing people could, and do find him attractive, he is going to blush so hard." She subsided a little, enough to catch her breath and let out an audible sigh of mirth. "That hunk, as you so aptly put it, is my husband, Phil Coulson."

Peggy blinked at her, along with Pepper. If it was the same guy from the coffee shop, he had been at least fifteen years her senior.

"Only nine years, actually," Natasha corrected calmly, and Peggy's chest lurched with mortification before she realised that she actually hadn't said that out loud. She lifted her eyebrows, mirroring Pepper again. Natasha sighed.

"Sorry. We get that question a lot. He looks older than he really is, and I look much younger. He is only nine years older than me."

Pepper held up her hands, waving them fervently. "Not judging," she said, while Peggy shook her head emphatically.

"So not judging," she echoed, smiling. "You should meet Pepper's significant other, he's thirty-eight but most of the time I'd swear he has the patience and self-control of a toddler."

"She's completely right," Pepper agreed easily. "He sulks like a teenager when he's told 'no'."

The corner of Natasha's mouth lifted. "Reminds me of James."

It made Peggy hum to herself. If that was true, it explained _so much_ about Steve's turbulent relationship with Tony.

"Oh, God," Pepper said, clearly on the same wavelength. "We can never let the two of them meet. This town can only survive so much."

When the slightly horrified laughter died away, it left the three of them smiling companionably at each other. 

"So you guys are planning to stick around for a while?" Pepper asked hopefully. She and Peggy being the lone voices of reason for their little group of miscreants got tiring after a while. Natasha, with her no-nonsense approach and perfectly controlled calm, would be a welcome addition. Peggy snorted to herself at the thought of how it'd drive Tony up the wall.

Natasha shrugged. "Well, that's the plan. Phil is taking over the Politics department, you know? He hates moving, it was a nightmare to just get him back in this country from Moscow. When he finds his place, he digs in like a clam, so if things go well this will be our home for a long time to come."

Peggy and Pepper shared a gleeful look, and Pepper stuck her hand in the air to order a celebratory round and some food. 

"To new friendships," she toasted when the drinks arrived, clinking her glass to the other two. 

"New friendships," Peggy and Natasha echoed. 

Even with the heavy atmosphere in their flat, even with the spectre of James Barnes looming huge on the horizon, Peggy couldn't help but feel elated, buoyant, almost. Somehow, she knew things would turn out just fine.

\---

"...Oh," Peggy said, instantly flushing at what her voice sounded like, taken aback, yet--yes, no hiding it. Appreciative as all get-out. She was in a stable, long-term relationship, not _blind_.

Barnes, clad in nothing more than a thin pair of shorts, stared down at her from where his feet slammed down against the treadmill, very, very naked chest drenched with sweat shining under the gym's harsh lights.

Peggy made herself close her mouth and move away from the entryway, where she'd stood frozen at the sight for far too long.

"Um, sorry," she mumbled, clearing her throat as she climbed onto the only free treadmill -- the one next to Barnes. Because _of course_ it was, bloody hell. She was aware her face was burning, but she was damned if she was going to let him see how flustered he was making her.

She didn't even know what the hell was wrong with her. She saw _Steve_ naked on a regular basis; surely she should be used to perfect specimens of manhood by now?

Apparently not.

She keyed up the uphill sequence and embarked on losing herself in the rhythm of step after step, breath after breath. Next to her, Barnes' breathing seemed thunderous, long legs eating up the distance with a grace Peggy hadn't often been witness to. His nearness felt like an electric cloud, rubbing static against the skin of her right arm. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. This was ridiculous; she had never reacted like that to anyone, not even Steve. She darted a glance at him, to check if he had noticed her embarrassing preoccupation. Barnes wasn't looking at her at all -- he was staring at the far wall, probably not even seeing it, it was that kind of thousand-yard stare.

Her heart was pounding, and it had nothing to do with how fast she was going. It seemed to keep pace with the line of Barnes' headphones, bouncing off his pecs. Christ on a bike. She should stop staring before he got fed up and--what? She didn't know him at all, barely enough to recognise. Who knew how he might react? He might sneer in disgust, or he might snap at her to mind her own business; or he might stare right back until he'd made his point. She had no way of knowing. None of these reactions were especially appealing, so Peggy concentrated on looking away.

It would have worked. She maintained that it _would_ have worked, but for the startled intake of breath at the entrance to the exercise room. Fucking hell, but she was a bloody idiot, what was she? Hadn't she meant to run into Steve here when he came in for his customary post-shift workout? How could she have been so _stupid_ , so distracted by Barnes'-- _everything_ that she forgot to ring Steve and warn him?

Barnes had frozen at her side the second he clapped eyes on Steve, which is no mean feat on a treadmill. He was breathing hard as he thumbed the machine to a stop; somehow Peggy was positive that his flustered state wasn't due to the exercise, either.

Steve took a few hesitant steps forward. It physically hurt Peggy to look at his face, so lost, so torn. Beside her, Barnes tugged out his earphones, releasing the tinny sound of a hard, fast beat and high female voices singing in the background. It was loud enough that Peggy could hear it from four feet away, which meant it must have been near-deafening for Barnes. She wondered if he used it to drown out the sound of his own breath, the beat of his heart in his ears. _"Нас не догонят"_ , the girl sang through the headphones, and Barnes streaked a thumb across the side of the mp3 player at his waistband, silencing the noise. His chest expanded and contracted once, deeply, before settling into the usual rhythm of in and out.

"Steve," he said, voice a low rumble, dark and sensuous. For a strange, weightless moment, Peggy wondered if that's what he'd sounded like when Steve's hands slid over the skin of his back, while Steve clung to him for all he was worth, like he clung to Peggy sometimes, shaking in her arms. 

"Bucky," Steve said back voice trying hard for blankness and not quite making the grade. He squared his shoulders, visibly steeling himself.

To be fair, Barnes looked just as uncomfortable, back straight but eyes darting around, casing the exits. Peggy was suddenly intensely glad that everyone else in the room had earphones in their ears, or this would have been even more awkward -- they were attracting curious glances as it was.

Barnes cleared his throat, eyes drawn to Steve like the needle of a compass to true north. "You, uh. You look--different. Good," he added hurriedly, like Steve might get offended; it was possibly the most telling reaction he had yet displayed. "Just -- different. Taller."

Steve shifted on his feet, looking torn to Peggy's practiced eye. She could only imagine what was going through his head -- he probably wasn't sure himself whether he wanted to have this conversation or not. But this was good -- they had to talk sometime, and this was a public place, neutral territory. Decent spot all round. 

"I shot up just after my seventeenth birthday," Steve admitted grudgingly, in the end. "Gram had to take me shopping for pants three times in six months."

Barnes smirked. Even cautious, it was still a hell of a good look on him, Peggy had to admit.

"Bet your Dad loved that," he said fondly.

Peggy closed her eyes. The silence was frigid, so much so that she couldn't hold back a shiver. 

"They were gone by then," Steve said coldly. Peggy opened her eyes in time to watch horrified realisation steal over Barnes' face, making the corners of his mouth slacken.

"No," he whispered, clearly without meaning to because he immediately bit the corner of his mouth, like he wanted to take the sound back.

Steve--deflated. There was no other word for it; it seemed like all the support had gone right out of his body, taking with it the remaining anger. Now he just looked tired, and sad, and so alone.

"Both of them," he replied softly. "About six months after you left, give or take. Couldn't keep the house, had to go live with Gram til I was eighteen; the money from the house barely lasted until my birthday as it was. She died about a year after that. So, I guess now I know."

Barnes swallowed, looking lost and haunted. "Know what?" he asked, voice so rough it was almost inaudible. 

"What it's like to be alone," Steve said simply, holding Barnes' eyes almost challengingly, watching Barnes flinch like Steve had shoved him. God, what had gone on between those two? Peggy could hardly draw breath from how fraught with tension the air was. 

"Steve," Barnes said again, hoarse, like it pained him.

Steve shrugged and looked away at last, mouth turned down in something that wasn't quite a frown, merely weary.

"I'd have written to tell you, only you never wrote yourself, so I didn't know how to find you," he said. His voice was as close to dead as Peggy had ever heard it, and it speared through her abdomen until she wanted to curl up in a ball and clutch at herself. 

Barnes' jaw clenched fitfully. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but closed it again before any sound could escape. He swallowed, hard, and tried again.

"I'm sorry. I...I got carried away with getting there, and what I found. I tried writing once, but I never got a response. Figured the letter got lost in the mail -- or you just didn't want to talk to me anymore. I never suspected--"

Steve exhaled audibly. "Yeah, well, that's over and done now. Let's just--forget about it."

"Forget about it?" Barnes echoed. If he'd meant that to be a challenge, it failed woefully; even Peggy could hear the fear in his voice.

Steve stared at him for a long moment. "Idiot. Not all of it, not us. Just-- _that_. Shit happens. You're back now, and--and I want to hear everything you've been up to the past twelve years." He cracked a smile, and it was small, but it was a smile, which was more than Peggy had managed from Steve for the past week. She rejoiced to see it, swallowed resolutely around the lump of hurt in her throat that it was Barnes who had drawn it from him.

Barnes smiled back, but Peggy didn't miss the way his eyes flickered over her and away. Steve seemed to catch it, too; he flushed, all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Oh," he choked, embarrassed. "Oh, God, I'm--This is--Bucky, this is my girlfriend, Peggy Carter. Peggy, James Barnes."

Peggy wondered if she was the only one to catch the brief, quickly-smothered flash of despair in Barnes' eyes.

"Charmed, I'm sure," he murmured. She forced herself to smile and not give away the jolt of despondent realisation that shook her as she worked out what it meant. Barnes was still in love with Steve; it was clear as day. He probably had been this whole time, and Steve-- 

She was no idiot. Steve, too, loved him still. Probably always would.

"Hello, James," she said, faking confidence and serenity with everything she had. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Barnes took the hand she offered him, scrutinising her from under dark, winged eyebrows. There was something about the way his eyes narrowed, the set of his jaw, that made Peggy sure he was judging her for-- _something_ , even if he didn't say a word. 

And then he smiled. It wasn't pleasant, and there was no humour in it. It was almost--vicious.

"Christ, Steve, you've bagged yourself a real duchess there," Barnes drawled, sharp and belligerent and so obviously in asshole mode that Peggy didn't know whether to laugh or flinch. "Knew you had it in you, pal. She's a class act, look at her pretend she doesn't wanna spit in my face for turning up from the dead without so much as a by-your-leave. Probably should've waited to be announced."

Peggy clenched her jaw. Wow, okay, James Barnes was a bloody wanker. But he was also Steve's best friend, regardless of the chasm of time yawning between them at present, and she wasn't dim enough that she'd take his bluster at face value. Looking under the sneer, all she could see was barely concealed pain chomping at the bit to lash out at someone, anyone who wasn't Steve. Even torn between slapping him down and channelling her Grandmother for all she was worth, she could appreciate that.

Door number two it was. When in doubt, she would always choose to draw her Britishness around herself like a cloak, a breastplate of perfect manners behind which to regroup. 

...With a twist.

"Thank you, Mister Barnes, although I trust you'll excuse me if I also encourage you to piss right off," she said, taking refuge behind cut-glass tones and a haughty stare.

Barnes stared at her, with the kind of shocked surprise on his face that Peggy would always take as a compliment. 

"I stand corrected," he said faintly, face creasing in the first honest smile Peggy had seen from him since they met. "Little Miss Perfect has claws. I approve. Don't know how you got so lucky, pal."

Steve had been looking between the two of them warily, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Peggy felt her lips twitch; sure, Barnes was a cock, but he was a smart, mouthy cock, taking as much as he dished out and quick enough to keep up with her mouth when she was in the mood for a mean and dirty verbal spar. It had been a while since Peggy had met someone like that; certainly never anyone like _this_ man.

Seeing whatever expression must have been on her face, the tense line of Steve's shoulders softened a touch, and his vast chest expanded and contracted sharply, just the once, before resuming its normal rhythm. His mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he shook his head at Barnes in a long-suffering yet fond manner.

"She's got you bang to rights, Buck," he said dryly, lips parting to flash a hint of straight white teeth.

Barnes shrugged, playing at disgruntled; but maybe it was that he and Tony really were as similar as Natasha had suggested, or maybe Peggy was coming to know him a little better, but she couldn't shake off the certainty that James Barnes was _enjoying_ this.

"Yeah, well. She got one thing wrong. It's Sergeant Barnes, least until the Army manages to find that loophole to kick me out at last."

"Sergeant, huh?" Steve said, ignoring the rest of what sounded more like a boast than something Barnes was worried about. One corner of his mouth lifted. "Should I call you 'sir'?"

Barnes smirked. It was _filthy_. "If it gets you off, babe, sure. You can call me anything you want."

Steve flushed _scarlet_ at the leer Barnes graced him with. Then Barnes' eyes slid to Peggy, and he did a ridiculously over-exaggerated double-take, face falling theatrically. 

"Oh dear oh dear," he said, pressing one hand to his (still _very_ naked) chest. "Should I have kept that particular part to myself?"

James Buchanan Barnes was a world-class _menace_ , Peggy decided then and there. A moment later, she bit the inside of her lip to stifle a scoff at it taking her so long to realise.

"Don't be bloody ridiculous, Sergeant," she said crisply, raising a quelling eyebrow at him. 

The blasted devil grinned cheekily, ignoring the way Steve all-but-squirmed from embarrassment. "Oh, I like it when you call me that, doll," he drawled.

Peggy rolled her eyes. It only made Barnes laugh harder. But the haunted look was gone from his eyes, and the razor's edge had -- not been blunted, but slanted a little, maybe, no longer cutting, now gliding along smooth skin.

"Hey, listen," Barnes said suddenly, snagging the t-shirt that had been slung over the treadmill's controls and wiping his face and chest with it. Peggy studiously looked away. "I'm about done here, and I know you only just got in, but I'm sure Carter can give you a decent workout later. Wanna go grab a drink?"

Steve didn't seem to be able to stop blushing. It was hilarious, and adorable. But, "Sure, Bucky, I'd love that," he said, smiling properly for the first time in what felt like too long.

Peggy didn't move as Barnes bumped his shoulder into Steve's and shoved him gently towards the door. 

"I'll see you at home, then?" she said, trying her hardest to sound steady, unconcerned, not like she felt as if he was leaving her behind, moving on.

Steve stopped in his tracks, turning to her with a guilty frown. To Peggy's surprise, the chagrin was echoed on Barnes' face as he, too, drifted to a stop. 

"Sorry, Peg, yeah. Do you mind horribly?"

Peggy gave him a look. What else could she do but go along with this until she could work out what it all meant for them? 'Idiot,' she tried to say with her unimpressed eyes and pursed mouth. Steve gifted her with a bright, unrestrainedly happy smile for her efforts. God, she was so whipped, because damned if it didn't make her want to wag her non-existent tail at him. 

"See you later, Carter," Barnes said, sending her an indecipherable look from around the width of Steve's shoulders as he turned to go. Peggy blinked, surprised at the bonhomie in his voice, how--easy he sounded. God, he was _such_ a strange man! But it was something she could work with, this tentative truce -- at least until she got the chance to get her bearings, to feel out the lie of the shifting land.

\---

Things loosened up after that. Barnes became a regular fixture at The Stark Pad, and he and Tony did meet. It... hadn't gone the way Peggy had expected. Her heart had swelled with fondness for Tony, because the guy had one hell of a bias against people who fucked up his friends, whether or not said friends had forgiven them, and no compunction about showing it. The sight of normally-expansive, easygoing Tony Stark staring down Barnes with barely concealed suspicion was something that Peggy didn't think would fail to make her smile any time in the foreseeable future.

The downside? Once Tony got over his suspicion, and once Barnes stopped baiting him (too much), the two of them fell into an easy rhythm of insults and mocking and generally behaving like fratboys trying to out-bro each other. Barnes' canines would flash, Tony would scowl; seconds later, he'd be the one smirking while Barnes' eyes narrowed on him in contemplation of the likelihood of getting hit back. 

So it came as a surprise to precisely no one when Tony demanded Barnes' presence for the annual booze-soaked insanity that was his birthday party, and that Barnes didn't even stop to think before accepting. Therefore, Peggy really had no right to be at all surprised when everything went _spectacularly_ to pots.

There was one thing that everyone knew who had spent any time in Steve's vicinity at a party, and that was that Steve did not drink. He had been teetotal for the whole time Peggy had known him -- and she, like everyone else, had made the mistake of assuming he always had been.

Steve didn't drink alcohol -- until, apparently, he did. Until James Barnes barged back into his life and gave him a thoroughly incredulous stare when Steve asked for blackcurrant and lemonade. 

"The fuck, Rogers, did you get your fun gene amputated while I was gone? No way you don't want a beer. You used to love that stuff when we were kids."

Tony, sticking close by and shamelessly eavesdropping, did not even pretend not to do the math.

"Steven Rogers, you _rebel_ ," he crowed, eyes glinting in delight. "You fooled us all. Illegal drinking! Oh, it really _is_ my birthday, isn't it?"

Steve rolled his eyes, bluffing through the flush that had taken over his face. 

"Thanks, Buck," he said dryly. "There goes my reputation."

Barnes laughed and slapped him on the back. "For being a boring fuck, you mean, which was clearly based on a scandalous falsehood. I'm only setting the record straight."

He shoved a beer in Steve's hand, holding his own out for Steve to clink. Peggy watched as Steve waged war with himself for a good minute, before he just seemed to give up. (She was learning that Barnes tended to have that effect on people, made them unwind almost against their will. She couldn't help but appreciate the trait.) Steve clinked the neck of his bottle to Barnes', and downed a third of it in one go, a curious mix of regret and relief on his face. Peggy made a mental note to ask about that later, if Steve felt like sharing.

And then there was Pepper, and Natasha, and Natasha's husband, Phil, who blushed delightfully at their enthusiasm for meeting him and immediately drew Peggy into a discussion about philosophical reasoning in Sergey Lukyanenko's books that lasted for the better part of an hour. After that, there was girl talk over wine, the three of them, Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis sitting around Tony's kitchen table littered with glasses and bowls of nibbles. By the time Peggy thought to check on her boyfriend, well, _this_ was the result. 

Steve Rogers, relaxed into one of Tony's offensively huge, absurdly comfortable sofas, James Barnes stretched out over his chest, lips drawing languidly over Steve's. Steve had one arm around Barnes' waist, an arm that contracted while Peggy watched, drawing Barnes further on top of him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

Peggy didn't know how long she stood there, how long she watched them while a part of her mind reminded her to breathe, _just breathe_. Eventually, their lips separated with a slick 'pop' that was loud even through the noise of the party, and Barnes leaned back, just enough so he could look Steve in the eye. Even from the side, Peggy could read the hesitant twitch of his fingers on Steve's shoulder, the stunned, disbelieving joy on his face. 

She could also see the perfect happiness in Steve's eyes fixed on Barnes, seeing nothing in the world but him. Christ, was this what it felt like to have a heart attack, something inside your heart cleaving in half, breaking irreparably, pieces separating from each other without any wish to cling, only get away, stop the yawning chasm of pain? Peggy felt weightless in that moment, lost, unmoored from the only harbour she had known for so many years, even before he was hers alone (and even when he wasn't). She had thought that she could do this; she had thought that she was capable of the selfless thing, strong enough to walk away and free Steve to be with the one he really loved. And she could; she would still do just that, she loved him too much not to, if that's what he needed -- but she wouldn't fool herself any longer. It would cost her far more than she had been braced to withstand.

And then. Then, just when Peggy had been sure nothing in the world could hurt more than watching Steve slip through her fingers, Steve looked up and saw her. Watching the happiness drain right out of his face, to be replaced with dread, fear, and a gut-wrenching kind of guilt, was...

Yeah. It was worse.

Peggy's overwrought mind barely registered the way Barnes' face fell in unison with Steve's, the way he shoved himself out of Steve's arms before Steve had even moved. 

"Oh, god, Peggy--Carter--I'm so sorry," Barnes stammered, white as a ghost. His eyes flitted between her and Steve; Peggy had no idea what her face must have looked like, but he flinched as if struck. "Look, don't--just--don't do anything rash, I'm leaving, okay, don't-- He loves you so much. This was all on me, I swear. And now I'm leaving, and I promise I'm not--" 

He bit his lips, looking utterly terrified for a long moment as he gazed at Steve; and then, like a switch had been flipped, utterly defeated. Without another word, he slunk off, head down and shoulders slumped, leaving Peggy to stare at Steve and wonder if she had ever really seen him before.

Steve looked wrecked. He looked like his world had just been yanked from under his feet, like he was reeling. If Peggy were a better person, the urge to go to him, comfort him, would have been stronger than the urge to run and hide, or to strike back at him, hurt him like he was hurting her.

But she wasn't. She was just Peggy Carter, human, flawed, only capable to cope with so much at a time, and right now she was prioritising herself over his needs. It was the only way to stay sane.

"Peggy," Steve started, voice destroyed, begging, pleading. It was more than she could bear, on the tail end of revelations she had not known to expect.

"No," she said -- whispered, really, but he seemed to get it. "No, Steve, I--no, I can't right now. I need--"

"Anything," Steve swore over her pause to force her lungs to work again, take in air choked with cigarette smoke nowhere near covered by burning incense.

After a few seconds of rebellion, her lungs gave in and expanded -- though only enough to drive back the black spots at the edges of her vision. 

"I need space," she managed at last. "I need to... think. And I need you to let me. I'm..." panicked, she waved her hand at Steve to stop, as if by sheer force of will pushing back the words she could see forming on the tip of his tongue. Steve closed his mouth, looking gutted. 

"I'm going to pack a bag, and--" Yes , that was a great idea, regardless of being the first one in her head. They were neutral, only just finding their feet in the town, their group. "I'm going to stay with Natasha and her husband for a few days."

She watched as Steve bit his lip, eyes wet and anguished. God, she loved him like a punch to the gut, like the only thing to keep her not just alive but _living_. She would not let that go, not if she could help it. But--

"You hurt me," she choked out, watching with a savage kind of satisfaction as Steve's face crumpled, eyes clenching closed and squeezing a tear out of the corner of the left. "I'm not saying it's over, but--you--I need to not see you for a few days."

Thankfully, Steve only nodded, looking abjectly miserable -- because she was damned if she was going to apologise, or ask for his permission.

"Anything," he croaked again, pale as a sheet. "Of course. Anything, Peggy."

She could only bear a moment of searching his face before she had to look away. She didn't know what she'd do if she didn't, what she might say, and she'd always hated to let people see her cry. Steve didn't question her, didn't try to explain, or apologise, or try to make it look like she was jumping the gun, which was good because that -- that would have been too much. She hated--no. No, she couldn't say that and mean it, not even now. She didn't hate him -- that was the whole problem. She was hurt, and upset, but Steve was the kind of man who was worth taking the bad in with the good. She _knew_ he'd never meant to hurt her. He'd never have done something like that intentionally, aiming to put her down and keep her there. That just wasn't who he was. And that was why she wanted to fight for him.

But not right now. She walked past, careful to not brush against his wide frame. He merely stood there, perfectly still, face creased in misery, and let her.

"Call me," he burst out, just as Peggy reached the doorway leading to the living room, away from the seclusion of the small library-cum-office. "When you're ready. Call me. I'll be here. I'll wait for as long as it takes, Peggy."

 _Please,_ he didn't add, but he didn't have to -- it was all over his face, his pose, open and vulnerable, regret written on every feature. It was nice; it was more reassuring than any empty promises and hollow reassurances. He _would_ wait for her, for however long it took her to work through this and make a choice. 

She nodded. It was all she could give him right now, and if that wasn't enough, well. But Steve, while still clearly unhappy, unwound just the tiniest bit; his lips twitched into a small smile laden with gratitude. He trusted her, she realised -- trusted her to keep her word, to not give up on them. 

She _would_ think about this, long and hard. He did deserve that, at least.

\---

Time passed. As the days came and went, Peggy started to leave the numbness behind, started to wake up to the world around her once more.

At first, it was the guilt. Not exactly an unusual occurrence for her; she was quite capable of guilt-tripping _herself_ , which both Natasha and Phil found endlessly amusing. Their spare room was just that -- spare -- and she was welcome to it for as long as she needed, they kept saying. Their patience and compassion were humbling, especially when Peggy finally started thinking straight and recalled that they were actually _Barnes'_ friends -- something she was shocked to find she had forgotten. By the time she recalled that pertinent fact, the whole story was out and Natasha was _livid_. Peggy had tried to protest when she had grabbed her phone and excused herself, stalking out of the room to undoubtedly rip Barnes a new one, but Phil had pulled her back gently, a wry smile on his face. 

"Best stand well back, Peggy. She's an unstoppable force when she gets something into her head."

Peggy, fluent in nuances from practically birth, could read exactly how he felt about that in every word, every look. It was bittersweet, to see so much love, such deep appreciation of another person. It reminded her of the way Steve would look at her sometimes, stunned, like he didn't understand how he could have got so lucky. 

What was truly shocking, however, was not how much it hurt, to think of this being taken from her -- but realising just how far she was prepared to go to keep it. She knew, with the kind of certainty you couldn't buy, that Steve would do whatever was necessary to convince her to stay. Anything she asked. Anything, up to and including cutting Barnes off. Sure, it would kill a part of him to do it, but that was just Steve for you -- the self-sacrificing idiot. It wouldn't be out of pity for her, either; Peggy _knew_ he loved her. He would step in front of a bullet for her. She also knew, just as unshakably, that he was still in love with Barnes, too. It wasn't something she needed to be told. 

The other thing she knew was that Steve -- conservative, faithful Steve -- would never even _consider_ the possibility that he could have his cake and eat it. That he could have both her _and_ Barnes. Not because he would find it distasteful, or wrong, but because -- well, because it would never occur to him that other people would be willing to compromise, for _him_. To keep him in their lives, to have and to hold him. The long and the short of it was that Steve didn't think he was worth that kind of devotion. It always punched right through Peggy's chest, how much Steve was willing to do, the lengths he would go to for others, never once considering that people would be willing to do that and more for him, too. Fifteen-year-old James Barnes had _a lot_ to answer for.

So. There was that. There were really only two questions Peggy faced now: one, what would Bucky Barnes be willing to do, to stay part of Steve's life? How much would he be willing to accept, to compromise, to share? Would he even _want_ to?

And two: what was she going to do about it?

She was still undecided two days later, as she sat in one of the deep, cozy armchairs in the Coulsons' living room, sipping a cup of tea and watching the rain fall into their small garden that Phil tended for a couple of hours every evening. She knew that she loved Steve, and she knew that she was--not unaffected by Barnes. Okay, the man was hot as _sin_ , there. The mere _thought_ of the three of them together had her whole face flaming and her insides clenching with want. So there was that. There was also the fact that he so clearly loved Steve, too -- common ground between them if there ever was one. No one looked at someone the way Barnes drank Steve in with his eyes if they weren't thoroughly, hopelessly smitten.

But. Barnes had left once, and it had nearly destroyed Steve. Would he stay this time? Or was Peggy dooming all of them by pushing for this, by trying to have the best of both worlds? She didn't know, and she couldn't think of any way of finding out, short of asking Barnes outright and trusting him not to lie to her. Could she take that risk with Steve's heart -- with hers?

Soft footfall came closer, each sound deliberate, like their source was trying not to spook her. Peggy tilted her head back to send Natasha a small smile, which Natasha returned before asking tentatively if she was interrupting.

"It's your house," Peggy considered saying, but she had learned enough to know that it would only insult Natasha. Her warm, easy hospitality was a revelation to Peggy, who had grown up with people who never extended themselves beyond mere politeness when hosting guests. 

So, instead, she said, "Not at all. Please, I would welcome the company." 

She shifted so she was facing the neighbouring recliner, a twin to her armchair when folded up. It was turned so the two of them faced each other at an angle, with only a small side table between them. No doubt Natasha and Phil spent many a quiet evening sitting in them, enjoying each other's company. Natasha slid into the seat gracefully, bringing her own cup of herbal tea to her face. For several long minutes, the two of them sat in companionable silence, enjoying the fresh smell of rain coming through the partially open French windows to the garden. Peggy kept sneaking Natasha small looks, wanting to tell her again how very grateful she was, how much she appreciated hers and Phil's support, the welcoming quiet of their home, the friendly, animated dinners where they talked about their days, history, politics, books, everything and anything at all -- but she didn't know how. Her stiff upper-class upbringing had not prepared her for this kind of easy camaraderie with a virtual stranger, just because she had needed it and she had asked.

"You don't have to," Natasha broke the silence after five or so minutes. 

Peggy turned to look at her, helpless to hide the flush that heated her face. 

"You don't have to thank us," Natasha clarified when Peggy didn't say anything, without bothering to prevaricate. "I know that face on you now, and I'll say again -- you stay as long as you like. I consider you a friend now, Peggy, and I like my friends to feel that they can call on me whenever they need to."

Touched, Peggy held out a hand warm from her cup, smiling and determinedly blinking back the mortifying sting of tears when Natasha reached over and wrapped her fingers around it without question, pressed it encouragingly. 

"I consider you a friend, too, Natasha, I hope you know that."

Natasha just smiled back, giving her fingers a last squeeze before drawing her arm back to her side. 

"I do," she said, sipping her tea and giving Peggy a considerate look over the rim of her cup that made Peggy sit up with curiosity and apprehension churning inside. "I do, Peggy. And so I'm going to offer you this. I think I know why you came to us -- to me. And you are quite correct -- I can tell you things about James. I can answer the questions I can see are messing you up. If you want me to. It's the least I can do, after my brother was such a damn coward and fucked this up so badly. So. Ask."

Peggy stared at her, blindsided. She honestly hadn't--the thought hadn't even--had it? Had her subconsciousness been leading her to this all along without her even knowing?

God, she was so confused. And excruciatingly uncomfortable, that Natasha should think--

Natasha waited her out with the now-familiar patience, looking back at her calmly as Peggy floundered and searched her face for clues. 

"I didn't--Natasha, I hope you don't think I angled for this from the start, I--"

"I don't," Natasha said evenly, more reassuring than any amount of platitudes. "If you had, I wouldn't have answered. It's okay, Peggy. If you think it would help -- ask."

Peggy couldn't say anything at first, too surprised for the words clamouring inside her head to make any kind of sense. But she _did_ want to know more about James Barnes, _desperately_. She wanted to know if there was even a chance that he'd consider what she was planning, and who, other than Steve, knew him better than his sister? Even if they hadn't grown up together, the bond between them was undeniable.

"What was it like, your first meeting?" she asked in the end, sage enough opening gambit, she thought. 

Natasha's face, while not exactly shutting down, grew hard, eyes flinty, like going back into her past was physically hurting her. Peggy was about to backtrack, to apologise, but then Natasha took a determined breath and fixed her with a steely look.

"I want to make one thing clear, first. I know James' leaving hurt people, especially Steve, who seems nice, and it sucks that he had to go through that, but -- I can't ever, ever regret James coming to look for us. I'm sorry if it makes me selfish and unfeeling, but-- James finding me was the best thing that ever happened to me.

"See," she continued, when she saw that Peggy had no intentions of interrupting, "after his parents died, all the family James had left was his mother's relatives, who lived in Moscow. Whom she had left behind when she--no. We will go back earlier.

"Our mother had me three years before she had James, a year and a half before she packed up her things and left in the middle of the night -- not that I remember any of that. She had no choice, I know that now. I knew it from the moment I turned thirteen. My father was long gone by then, driven away by the man who made my mother's life hell -- my grandfather. She was only eighteen when she had me, and my grandfather never forgave her for it -- she was supposed to have stayed and home and looked after him. He had never had any intentions to let her marry. If she hadn't met James' father, she would probably have died back in that old, dingy apartment, most likely at my grandfather's hand. James Barnes Senior gave her the strength to run, but she couldn't have taken me with her, not if she wanted to actually get away.

"I won't bore you with the details. After my thirteenth birthday, things grew steadily worse. I became a prisoner in my own home; the only time I was allowed out of it was to go to school. I used to do ballet and gymnastics for years before; that was cut off, too, at that point. It was like a switch was flipped. He had never liked me much, but he at least tried to keep up pretenses. I don't know what changed, or why. I suspect I was simply growing up, and looking more and more like my mother. He got--violent."

Natasha shuddered, looking appalled with her body for betraying her. Her voice never broke, though, and her eyes remained hard and clear. Peggy, cold all over from the implications, realised that whatever this woman had been subjected to, she'd got through it, if not hale, then at least whole. She was a survivor, and Peggy could not admire her more.

"By the time my eighteenth birthday loomed, I was convinced that my life was over. I had nothing to look forward to, nothing to run away for. I'd learned how to slip my grandfather's grasp, how to lock and bar my door, how to ignore his vodka-fuelled rants and attempts to get into my room. I barely left the apartment anymore; I'd graduated school a year early, but there would be no university for me."

Peggy kept herself quiet and still as a mouse, concentrating on Natasha's words, the hypnotising purr of her accent, and not betraying the hot fury that had her shaking inside at the thought of this amazing, fiercely intelligent young woman being stamped down, kept back from even a chance to fulfil the potential she must have so clearly shown, going by the fact that she was a _professor_ now. They didn't just hand those titles out, and it was obvious how much she loved her work. 

Focused as she was on Natasha, it was impossible for Peggy to miss the way her expression lightened up, the way whatever thought she'd just had chased back the darkness of her past. Peggy didn't have to wait long to find out what it was.

"Then," Natasha went on, almost disbelieving, "one day, there was a knock on the door, and there was this boy on the other side, clutching a mangled piece of paper in one fist and a bulging holdall in the other, asking if this was where Ivan Vodishevitch lived. My mother had taken my father's surname when they'd married at gunpoint, and I was Natalia Romanova in my passport. There was no way for this boy to know who Krasina Barnes had used to be, unless he'd found her old papers -- which he had, because he went on to ask if this was Krasina Vodishevitch's house. No one had spoken my mother's name out loud for so long, it was a shock to my system to hear it. I was terrified of what my grandfather would do if he heard it, that he would chase away this boy before I had the chance to find out who he was, what he knew about my mother.

"It was an utter shock to see the change in my grandfather's face when he first saw James. It was like all his dreams had come true. A grandson, someone to continue the family line, his own blood. Didn't matter that he was raised a Westerner; didn't matter that my mother had run away to have him, or that he only spoke stilted attempts at Russian. In him, my grandfather saw his redemption. As far as he was concerned, James was the answer to his prayers. 

"I was more knee-shakingly relieved than anything. Maybe now I'd have a chance to escape, be allowed to leave. James was shocked when he found out who I was. It seems -- my mother must have been so desperate to escape her old life that she had never mentioned me to him at all."

Peggy's heart ached for this woman, at the tightly controlled pain in her voice. Just because she had never really known her mother didn't make the hurt any less -- Peggy would know, after all.

"James was, understandably, thrilled with the family he'd found. He didn't know any better than the gruff yet welcoming bear of a man that my grandfather was to him at that point. I hoped, for his sake, that it would keep. 

"Of course, there was never any chance of that. James was as drawn to me as I was to him; right from the first, there was a strange, compelling kinship between us. I had always longed for a brother, like something inside me had known that he was out there, waiting to meet me. And of course, my grandfather saw, and considered it a personal betrayal. He held off for a few days, but about a week after James appeared, my grandfather got him drunk and locked him in his room to sleep it off. That night, he broke down the door to my room. After, he just unlocked James' room, like nothing much had happened; of course, the lock on mine would never work again.

"I had become adept at hiding things by then, of course, but even half a tube of make-up couldn't hide the bruises the next morning. James didn't see anything at first, he was so hungover and miserable, but with coffee came clarity, and realisation of just what was going on. To this day, I remember the look on his face when he worked it out. I don't know what I expected -- indifference at best, contempt at worst, I think; he didn't really know me from a stranger. What actually happened was that he wouldn't let me wave it off, wouldn't stop asking until I told him the truth -- and then I had to tackle him down until he saw sense and stopped swearing to murder my grandfather as soon as he walked through the door. I'll never know how he managed to keep calm and sit through dinner across from my grandfather, while he boasted about his days of glory in the Communist Party's ranks. That night, James slept on the floor by my bed. The next morning, I packed a bag, and we left." 

Contrary to the cold dread gripping Peggy at the horrors of Natasha's story, Natasha's mouth was curled in a faint smile, like for her it was a good memory, not something to have nightmares about. Her voice was dreamy, indulgent when she went on, drifting gently over to Peggy with the soft drumming of raindrops against the glass. 

"Over the course of the next month, once I started to finally feel free, to believe that I was safe at last, I told James the story of our mother as I had come to know it, reading between the lines of my grandfather's rants. In turn, he told me of the woman he had known, kind, fiercely protective, always with a hint of sadness in her eyes that not even James and his father could erase completely. We made do, surviving on what we could steal, sleeping in abandoned houses, dodging the drug dealers and rapists prowling the streets. I don't really know how long we could have kept that up, if I hadn't stumbled onto the Red Room, one day when I was following a wealthy mark back to his apartment that we were planning to break into the next day. Apparently, I wasn't the only person after him. He dropped right in front of me, a small hole at the back of his head and his face largely gone from the bullet shattering inside his skull. Before I could escape, the assassin had found me. She was about as old as me, icy blond hair tied in a tight bun at her nape, covered by the high collar of her coat. She introduced herself as Yelena, and before I knew it, I was sitting in a small, dim room with James fidgeting at my side, staring at General Drakov across the table. Yelena was standing to attention at his shoulder; this close, it was impossible to mistake the resemblance. She was his daughter.

"The Red Room didn't care how old we were, or what kind of papers we had. They offered us the illusion of a choice between 'volunteering' for their project, or juvenile penitentiary for James and a return to my grandfather's house for me. James could have left, of course, called on his American citizenship and made it out, but he wouldn't leave me."

Natasha paused in her lilting narrative, looking at Peggy meaningfully. Peggy blinked free of the spell that Natasha had so effortlessly woven around them, and smiled a little, nodding to let Natasha know that she took her point. Understood what Natasha was trying to tell her, about the kind of man James Barnes was. No wonder he hadn't written to Steve for so long -- how could he have, when he hadn't had the first idea about what was going to happen to them? There wasn't anything malicious or angry about his delay -- things had simply happened that way. Peggy knew that Steve would appreciate knowing that, if and when Bucky got to telling him about it.

Natasha smiled back, satisfied that Peggy was paying attention. 

"We were with the Red Room for eight years, give or take," she went on, a soft burr on the Rs that showed how deeply she had sunk into her own memory. "To everyone's surprise, both James and I were naturals. We've done things, Peggy, that--I'm glad you will never know the details. We are neither of us heroes, but we were _good_ at it, and there was nowhere else for us to go. We learned espionage, how to influence negotiations, how to sabotage meets, how to be the perfect blank slate. The Red Room operated on their own rules, for their own agenda. They were part of the Soviet Union's military, but a separate organisation. You rose fast through the ranks, if you knew how to play the game. James became _Старший Сержант_ \-- Senior Sergeant. I made Major in the first four years, before rising to _Подполковник_ \-- that's Lieutenant Colonel -- in the next two. 

"The revolution had never really made a dent on the Red Room -- they knew how to protect their interests. But then Vladimir Putin clawed his way to power, and things were suddenly looking shaky. That's when the Red Room learned, to their shock, that James and I were _very_ good at our jobs, and our loyalty only recognised each other. We crawled out of the steaming remains with absolutely nothing to our names, just like we went in. The bank accounts we'd managed to hack to destabilise the Red Room would have netted us a tidy profit, but we'd used the money to line the palms of certain officials, and there was almost nothing left -- just enough for a room for a few days, and one smart outfit apiece. There was a function at the American embassy in Moscow that we were _determined_ to gatecrash. We had nothing left to lose, after all, and we had to find new jobs for ourselves. American contacts would be....beneficial, we were both agreed."

For the second time in the story, Natasha's expression shifted, softened, shook off the steel of recounting hers and Bucky's fight for survival. Peggy smiled, thinking that she knew what came next. Natasha did not disappoint.

"We were a sensation," she recounted, smiling dreamily. "People couldn't keep their eyes off of us. Wait till you see James in a good suit tailored for him, he is a revelation. I wore a blood-red floor-length one-shoulder dress that hid all my blades. We shouldn't have been so obvious; we might have dismantled the Red Room, but people in certain circles still recognised us. We should have known better, but relief is the kind of drug that makes you reckless. We were cornered in a deserted section of the embassy, twenty on two, and good as we are, we only had a few blades and the gun James always carried. We took out fifteen; five were better than their colleagues, and we were bleeding from a few dozen cuts each. It wasn't looking good.

"That's when he turned up. You've seen him, he's so unassuming, meek, almost, but God, Peggy, when he drops the act, he is _magnificent_. It's no use blushing, _дорогой_ , you know you are," she called over her shoulder; Peggy started, looking in the direction of the approaching footsteps. Phil came into view, a pretty pink blush on his face, eyes shining where they fell on Natasha. Peggy smiled with the sweet ache of delight at how obviously in love the two of them were.

"He just stood there, said, 'My people have you surrounded, drop your weapons immediately if you want to live,' calm as anything, but when we looked again, all of us had red laser dots dancing over our hearts. What could we do? I could see that James wanted to risk it, regardless, cut and vanish like we had so many times before, but I was tired. Tired of running, and something told me that this man could be trusted."

She held out a hand, which Phil took immediately, never hesitating. He perched on the edge of Natasha's armchair, her hand resting in his over his thigh.

"I knew them, of course," Phil said, amused resignation in his voice as he took the story over from his wife. "We had files five inches thick on each of them, we'd been tracking them for months. I just never expected they'd be brazen enough to waltz right into our territory like they belonged there."

Natasha grinned dangerously, and in the flash of a second, Peggy was reminded of the menace that she had first felt coming from her back at the cafe, the first time she'd seen her. 

"He offered us a deal. Flip on the Russians, and he'd get us out of the country, back to the States, grant me American citizenship. We said yes. Now there's a network back in Moscow that puts the KGB to shame. Took a couple of years to put in place. A few other things happened in those couple of years," she added, looking up at Phil from under her lashes. His mouth twitched, and he leaned in, kissing her smiling lips. Peggy looked away, feeling like she was intruding. 

"And then it was over, and neither I nor James had the stomach to remain in Moscow. Took some convincing to get Phil to see sense, but he did, and here we are."

Peggy looked at them, so happy and content in each other's presence, and her heart ached to have Steve by her side again. More than ever, she felt hopeful about pulling this thing off. Bucky Barnes was obviously fiercely loyal, and followed his heart even when it got him into trouble -- case in point, that night almost a week ago now -- yet also knew enough of right and wrong that he'd felt rotten about it afterwards. And from what Natasha had told her -- Peggy felt as confident as she'd ever get that Bucky would stay, if he was given a reason. 

She looked up again to find both Natasha and Phil observing her with clear approval on their faces. They obviously knew that she intended to do something to get this whole mess sorted out, and it was warming to have their unquestioning support, the faith that she could get this thing to work. She grinned back, feeling lighter than she had for -- well, months. Ever since Bucky Barnes came waltzing into their lives and turned them upside-down. They would get through this yet.

\---

Steve stood when she came through the door. He was always so unfailingly polite, like his manners were something he clung to from his childhood. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, like guilt and remorse were eating him alive from the inside out. Despite that, he met her eyes unflinchingly, back straight, shoulders squared. It wasn't arrogance -- it was simply that he knew he had messed up, and he wasn't running away from his mistakes.

"Thank you for coming," he said, as if it hadn't been Peggy who'd called. Deprived of her opening gambit, Peggy could do little but nod and take the seat opposite him at the table -- not one of the cozy two-seater tables, she noted, but not one of the larger, group-sized ones, either. She wondered suddenly how long he must have stood there, deliberating over his options. The pang of warmth was achingly familiar, as was the 'Jesus, this _man_ ' that she had come to expect. 

The young, perky waitress came over immediately to take their order. It was one of the reasons Peggy had chosen this place -- no awkward hanging around the till, waiting for your drink to get ready. Steve asked for a black coffee, while she took tea absentmindedly, mulling over Steve's order. He liked his coffee sweet and milky; to ask for black and look grimly satisfied when he got it -- Steve was not that deep. Oh, he was smart, so bloody perceptive, clever in a way a lot of people didn't expect with the rugby physique, but deep? No. Steve wore his heart on his shoulder, was refreshingly direct, did _not_ do well in deceit -- which was what this whole situation was about, wasn't it? Peggy would bet her monthly wage that it hadn't even occurred to Steve to wonder about his sudden craving for the bitter blackness, what it might reveal of how he felt about himself right now. God, she loved him.

She watched him drink while she waited for her tea to steep, watched the minute furrow of his brows, the tightening at the corner of his eyes. It looked like, even if she was done punishing him, _he_ wasn't.

"How are you?" he asked at last. He didn't flinch, or brace himself to be yelled at. She knew him well enough to know that, in his own head, this wasn't about him.

"I'm all right," she allowed, sending him a small smile. "How are you?"

Steve glanced at her, mouth pursed in a wry smile. 

"Pretty rotten," he admitted sheepishly.

She sipped her tea and waited, braced to be proven wrong. She thought she knew him, but she had been wrong before -- about other people, granted, but still. She waited, yet he didn't pressure her, didn't try to manipulate her, although he was spectacularly good at it -- the number of times he had good-naturedly played Tony was staggering, and never ceased to send her in a fit of chuckles. He just sat there, looking -- honestly, looking happy just to be in her presence, like he so often had.

However, she also didn't think she imagined the tiny, apprehensive glances he threw her, trying to gauge which way the wind blew. She knew she couldn't prolong it indefinitely. 

"So," she said, and watched his attention immediately snap to her. "I suppose we should talk about Barnes."

 _Now_ Steve flinched. Just a little, a tightening around his eyes, a twitch of his mouth. 

"I know it was wrong," he said quickly, looking down at his hands clenched around his mug. "I knew it even as I did it, yet--I couldn't stop myself. This is why I don't drink. Because I tend to do questionable things that I'm not sure I want at all, when I do. Although, in the interest of honesty -- I don't want to lie to you anymore, Peggy, even if it is by omission. I wanted it. I'm sorry, but I did. It's been so long, and I know--I--God knows I don't want to lose you, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, but I couldn't stop.

"Which is why I think it's better that I don't see him again."

Peggy had to brace herself not to reel in shock. "What? No," she blurted, immediately biting the inside of her cheek at the way it made Steve wince. "Steve, you can't, he's your best friend," she argued, even if she was damned if she knew _why_.

Steve's lips pinched, and he shook his head miserably. "He used to be," he said wistfully. "Now? I don't know if I even know him anymore. If I ever really knew him. You--you mean more to me now, Peggy. You mean everything, and a fleeting affair before he decides to--to disappear again just isn't worth it."

Peggy ached inside. For him, for the years of hurt lurking behind his words, for the haunting sadness in his voice.

"But you love him," she said.

This time, Steve actually jumped, dragging the chair he was sitting in over the floor, away from the table, as if that would push away her words, too. 

"No, I--" he stammered. His eyes were bright, and his voice shook, just a tiny bit. "Peggy, I love _you_."

She sighed. "I know, love. I know you do. But you love him, too. Please, Steve," she added, seeing his mouth start to shape another automatic denial. "No more lies. Please. Tell me the truth."

Steve closed his eyes. 

"Yes," he whispered.

He looked utterly shocked when she reached across the table and wrapped her hand around his fist. His head shot up, searching her face. 

The smile Peggy sent him was weary, but real. "It's okay, darling," she said softly. "It'll be okay."

"I don't see how it can be," he said, looking wretched, but his hands unclenched, and he automatically turned them to let her in, closing around her fingers again, keeping them safe. 

"Trust me?" Peggy said. She hadn't intended for it to come out like a question, like a plea, but that's how it did.

Steve's answer was immediate, just as instinctive. "Of course," he said, face open, voice sure. The warmth that filled her was unmistakable -- undeniable. 

For the first time since she'd walked through the door, his shoulders relaxed from their rigid set, and he all but slumped over the table, as close to her as he could get. He didn't ask any more questions -- and that spoke so much more eloquently than words that he did trust her, unreservedly. She'd told him it was going to be okay -- that she would _make_ it okay -- and he believed her.

That night, Steve slept wrapped up around her, face buried in her hair, holding on to her for dear life, like she might disappear with the morning mist. Peggy did not sleep until the sky outside their window started to lighten, until dawn's soft fingers teased at the edges of the darkness. She had a day off tomorrow; and besides, she had _a lot_ to think about.

\---

Barnes answered the door clad in nothing but a pair of ratty tracksuit bottoms gone soft from hundreds of washes. His chest was bare, and glistening with sweat; his cheeks were red, hair plastered to his forehead. When he saw her, his face went completely still, a blank mask the like even Tony had trouble maintaining.

"Can I come in?" Peggy asked evenly.

She could see it in his eyes, how much he wanted to say no; to tell her to fuck right off. To her surprise, there was no hatred in his face, no resentment even though she could have sworn he harboured a healthy measure of both. Only the bitter tang of regret was there, plain for her to read, a hint of the haunting ache of loss. He stepped aside, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

His flat was small but neat, decorated sparsely enough that one might wonder if he was planning to stay at all. If it had been Peggy, she might have felt the same -- cut her losses, listened to her survival instinct, left this place that held nothing but pain now that the man she loved had chosen another.

She turned around to face Barnes, and did him the courtesy of not pretending this was a social call. Barnes looked wary, a little confused under his mask of forced calm, fingers twisting fitfully into the threadbare t-shirt he was tugging on. He crossed his arms again, muscles bunching. 

Just like the last time, Peggy's mouth went dry at the sight. The man was -- how both Steve and Barnes had been blessed with the kind of physique that came straight from a wet dream, she couldn't even begin to guess. It was so unfair -- but if she just played her cards right....

"What can I do for you, Carter?" Barnes said, tone a mixture of challenge and belligerence. He knew what she was here to talk about; he _had_ to know, though maybe not quite _all_ the details. 

"You love him," she said simply. 

It was not a question, but Barnes still apparently considered it something he had to answer. 

"So fucking what?" he growled. "What more do you want from me? I backed off. He chose you, obviously. I made a mistake when I was younger, a stupid mistake that looks like it'll haunt me for the rest of my life. I'm paying for it, all right? I don't know what more I can do."

Peggy shook her head. Both of them were so _stupid_.

"He could no more choose me over you than he could choose you over me. Believe me, if it had been different--" She cut herself off, allowed herself a second to take a breath and settle the tornado of emotions in her chest. "I love him too. I love him enough that I would -- I'd back off myself if I thought it would make him happy. It would hurt like seven kinds of hell, but I would walk away; I would give him you, if I could. But it's not like that. Not for him. He's--We're--" 

She paused, and watched Barnes watch her, face still completely shut down but for his eyes, which burned with the kind of fire that could consume whole worlds. 

Yes. This, what she intended to bring about -- it felt _right_. 

"We're both of us too deeply entrenched in him. To make him choose between us would break him, and that's one thing I could never stand to see."

Something changed behind Barnes' eyes. He still watched her, but there was something almost like reluctant respect in their depths. He didn't argue with her, at least, and that was good enough to be going on with.

"So what do you propose?" he asked. She noticed with relieved satisfaction that it wasn't meant as a rhetorical question: Barnes was paying attention. "It seems to me like we're at a stalemate."

Peggy took another deep, bracing breath, and smiled tentatively. 

"You love him," she said again. This time, Barnes simply nodded, however reluctantly. "And he loves you. --No, shut up, you know full well he does. And I love him. So. There is only one question here, really."

The silence was charged, but oddly encouraging. Barnes was listening. Peggy took a step closer, then another, until she was near enough to Barnes to feel the heat of his body, smell the tang of just-raised sweat.

"Yeah? What's that?" Barnes drawled, watching her from behind his criminally long eyelashes. 

Peggy smiled self-deprecatingly, and spread her arms. "Can you share him? With me?"

Barnes -- if she'd thought he was still before, now he seemed to be cut out of a slab of marble. She wasn't even sure he was still breathing. 

"What?" he said, voice dangerously soft.

She shrugged. "Can you? Because I will. For him, I will. I promise, this is not a trick. I'm willing to try this, if you are. Frankly, it's the only option I can see out of this stalemate, as you so aptly called it, that doesn't result in one or all of us ending up perpetually miserable for--well. Forever, I suppose. So. What is your answer?"

Barnes was silent for a long, long time, eyes boring right through Peggy, all the way to the other side. 

"You're sure about this?" he asked, but it seemed to be more because he thought he ought to ask, rather than because he didn't believe her.

"I am. All of this, it goes as far as the three of us want it to. I am willing to negotiate the details and work on a consensus for as long as it takes. I don't want to lose him, either," she made herself confess when, still, Barnes hesitated.

The silence stretched so long that Peggy started to wilt a little under Barnes' evaluating gaze. She would have given him time to think; but she admitted to herself that whatever else Barnes was, he wasn't stupid. He must see, like she did, that this was the only possible outcome that even gave them a chance. It was a huge risk, an even bigger step, but--Steve inspired big dramatic gestures in everyone who cared about him, it seemed. 

The arms over Barnes' chest lost some of their rigidity, loosening the death grip on his body. He stepped closer, covering the last of the remaining distance between them. Peggy did not retreat, holding her ground even if her heart was trying to escape through her throat. One broad, strong hand reached up and rested on the side of her neck, fingers curling over her nape. It ought to have felt like a threat; god knew that Barnes had in him the strength to snap her neck with no more than a twist of his hands. And yet, it felt like nothing so much as surrender, a promise without words.

"You are a remarkable woman," Barnes said softly. "Steve is lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have him," she countered. Barnes smiled, with a touch of lightness that hadn't been there a moment ago. 

"I'm not him," he warned her. "I'm not a good man. Hell, I'm not even a nice man. You sure you want to throw your lot in with mine?"

Peggy let her mouth quirk just a touch. "He loves you," she said simply. "If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough to make me want to try." She smiled a little broader, a little of her usual confidence trickling through. She was _sure_. "But you're also surprisingly sweet, and honest, and, let's face it, pretty damn easy on the eye. I think I can live with that."

Barnes laughed. It was a loud, sudden noise, faintly surprised, like it wasn't something that was heard too often. 

"Okay," he said, after it had died down. 

"Okay?" Peggy repeated, a little dazed by the sudden lightness in her own chest. 

"Yeah. Let's give this a try."

His thumb was rubbing softly against her cheekbone, hesitant but increasingly brave. "Assuming Steve agrees to it, of course."

The feeling spreading through Peggy's chest this time was much more familiar -- the kind of bone-deep certainty you only got when things were going exactly the way you knew they should.

"Oh, he will. He'll fight us every step of the way, of course, and he'll pull out a hundred reasons why it's impossible out of his arse, but he wants this too badly to fight it for long. Trust me."

Barnes grinned at her, sharp and expectant. "You know what? I think I do."

She smirked, triumphant. "Good boy. Now let's go convince our third wheel we're the perfect shape for a tricycle."

\---

Steve was shaking in their arms.

Peggy looked over his shoulder at Bucky, whose eyes were wide, concerned, looking right at her, too, as if seeking guidance. 

"Sweetheart, do you want to stop?" she asked quietly, stilling herself, shifting her hands to Steve's sides, stroking lightly. 

Steve was silent, mouth opening and closing, breathing laboured. It was like he couldn't shape the words he wanted. When a minute passed and he hadn't said anything, Bucky's face just….closed down. It was almost a physical wrench to see it, but she could do nothing, say nothing, because--because what if she had been wrong? What if, after all the talking, and all the reassurance she could offer, Steve still wasn't okay with this? What if she'd dragged Bucky into it kicking and screaming, only for it to fall apart in her hands with no way of stopping it? God, that would be too cruel, surely.

Bucky started to pull back. At first it was his face, as blank and unemotional as he could make it but for his eyes, which burned with what looked like the fires of hell. Then, it was his hands, sliding away from Steve's chest, removing themselves from his body as Bucky moved away, put some distance between them. His jaw ticked. Peggy felt sick to her stomach.

"It's okay," Bucky said, voice gravel-rough and faint. "It's fine, I'll just--"

"No," Steve said. He trembled all over, but he somehow managed to turn in Peggy's arms, grab hold of Bucky's wrist. He didn't pull, but he wouldn't let go, either, not even when Bucky tugged gently on his hold. "No, Bucky, please."

Bucky stopped, looked down, swallowed.

It had not been an easy ride, getting here. Steve had balked like a startled horse at the mere suggestion, eyes darting between them, lips white and dry, eyes enormous. 

"I don't understand what you're saying," he'd said, near to pleading, so confused. And then Peggy had talked, and Bucky had talked, and she had reached for Bucky, and he had tentatively reached back, taken her hand, eyes pleading with Steve to believe it, to give this a try.

"I love you," Peggy had said, "I love you and you need this and I… I want it, too. Can we try?"

And so, after nearly a week of careful negotiation and learning to fit together in the same space and assurances they'd take this slow, there they were, rushing ahead anyway, impatient and eager and too invested, and Peggy felt like she might be sick, and Bucky looked sick enough for both of them, and Steve… 

Steve was still the bravest man Peggy had ever known. It was obvious that he was well out of his comfort zone, swimming in unfamiliar, shark-infested waters, but he was…. He was not giving up. He couldn't. He didn't know how to, and Peggy loved him, so fiercely it was a churning in her gut alongside her dread. 

"Please," Steve whispered again, voice shaking just a little, and Peggy could see it was that which did it, that tiny little tremble that kept Bucky there, made him wait. "I'm sorry, it's just… This is so overwhelming. I still can't believe that….That I get to have you both. Please. I'm sorry. Stay."

Bucky looked at him for a long time, features utterly still, before his jaw started ticking again and he shook his head. "You don't need to be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. I know it's a lot for you, and…. And I wish I hadn't put you in this situation, but--no, it's okay, I get it now. I get what C--what Peggy meant. I get that you--" He swallowed, licked his lips. "That you need us both. I'm not running away anymore, Steve. I promise."

Steve's face, what Peggy could see of it, crumpled in relief. His hand on Bucky's flexed, once, knuckles whitening before he deliberately loosened his hold again. "Come here?" he whispered, raw, and Bucky's blank facade cracked at last, the same relief written all over his features. 

"Always," he whispered back, kneeling back onto the bed and crawling over to them, near-falling onto Steve in his rush to kiss him, deep and hard and thorough, like he was trying to climb inside. "Always."

Steve's arms closed around him, plastering him to his front. He kissed along his eyebrow, his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw, nosing at his cheek to turn his face, losing himself in kissing him again. Bucky threw a leg over Steve's thigh, getting closer, gasping as his cock rubbed at the naked skin of Steve's lower belly. Peggy watched them, and God, there was hardly breath in her lungs, not with this playing out before her. They seemed apart from the world like this, safe in their own little bubble, with her to watch their backs like she always would. Steve was shaking again, but this time, it seemed to be from eagerness, because his hands mapped the curve of Bucky's back helplessly, fingers digging in, drawing him closer. Bucky's eyes were closed, and his own fingers clenched in Steve's shoulders, his thigh flexed to bring them tighter together. 

It was strange, how watching them….didn't hurt; it just didn't, not like Peggy had imagined it might. All she felt was a burning sense of rightness, a vicious protectiveness in her chest, that this was hers and by God she was going to keep it, whatever she had to do. She shifted closer, splayed herself over Steve's back; her right breast pressed to Bucky's wrist, and she gasped. Fuck, it was far from the most stimulation she'd ever had but it was Bucky's wrist, his skin, then his hand shifting to spread over the swell of her breast, her ribcage, a thumb finding and flicking against her nipple. She shuddered all over, threw an arm over Steve's side and used the leverage of Bucky's back to pull herself tighter against them. Her right thigh came up as well, fitting in the space above Bucky's, opening her up so that the swell of Steve's right cheek fit against her clit exactly right, and she gasped again, closer to a moan this time. Bucky rumbled deep in his throat, approving, and Steve…

Steve pulled back from the kiss, turned onto his back, dislodging the delightful pressure. Peggy grumbled a complaint, but then Steve's arm came around her, and he drew her in to kiss her, too, slow and devastating, tongue licking into her mouth and taking, claiming. He shifted his thigh between hers, bore up, and Peggy groaned into his mouth as it rubbed against her clit, hard and implacable. Christ, she couldn't remember the last time she had been this turned on, this close to blowing from just making out. Her hand stroked over Steve's pecs, fingers squeezing around a nipple. Steve moaned; his cock jumped against her hip, and then there were fingers around it, stroking her skin with every slide. The sound Steve made was...broken, but also like he was being made whole again, and Peggy thought in a haze that this is what Steve should always sound like, a shard of delight, of affection mixed with fierce satisfaction. His hips worked back and forth, driving him into Bucky's fist, and it brought his thigh harder against her flesh, slicked now with the evidence of how much she wanted him, wanted them both. 

"Let me, I want, please," Steve murmured, steady hands pushing her up the bed, opening her thighs until she was arranged the way he wanted her, spread out and presented to his eyes. He turned until he was on his stomach, and--

Peggy threw back her head and moaned, loud and unashamed, arching into his mouth. He licked her with the broad side of his tongue, greedy like he got sometimes, flicking the tip against her clit until she wanted to scream, until she wanted to fist a hand in his hair and push his head down onto her, until she had to grab hold of the sheets under her fingers not to fuck his mouth like she wanted to. Steve rumbled, a masculine sound of satisfaction, and it shouldn't get her so hot, but it did, oh, it did.

An unexpected grunt broke into the blur of pleasure and need, and Steve shifted against her, teeth grazing her clit accidentally as he pushed up on his knees, mouth still buried in her cunt. She looked up, followed the gorgeous, tautly muscled expanse of his bare back, and found Bucky's hand flexing there, two shiny fingers disappearing inside Steve's body while Steve spread his thighs and arched his arse and begged wordlessly for more. Bucky's face was covered with sweat; as she watched, a droplet rolled past his temple, down his jaw, over his chest. Steve pushed inside her with his tongue, and she heard herself let out a gasping whimper, bit her lip, followed the droplet's path projection down Bucky's flexing abs, the trail of black hair in the centre of his stomach, leading straight down to where his cock stood out, rigid and flushed, an answering droplet of precome shining at the tip. 

She looked up to see him watching her, eyes dark and blazing, watched as he deliberately twisted his fingers, making Steve's body jump and flex, back and forth, tongue dragging in and out of her in answer. Fuck, the look in his eyes -- he was using Steve to fuck her, she saw the intent in his face, the way his mouth curved in a dark, filthy smirk, and God, _God_ , she was--she was going to come--

"Shit," she groaned, hips pushing her up onto Steve's face, " _shit_ , Steve--"

His hand came up, thumb pressing on her clit, steady so she could rub herself on it as she moved, and she looked at Bucky watching her, twisting his fingers hard inside Steve's body, pushing him forward, and she looked down to see Steve's eyes slipping closed, expression blissful as he licked inside her, and then she was breaking down, she was going up, she was--

She heard distant yelling, full of pleasure and sex, and her throat was vibrating, so that was probably coming from her, wasn't it, and yet she could do absolutely nothing about it. Didn't want to; it was only sound, only the projection of her body tightening and flushing with release, head bowed back, eyes squeezed tight as she came and came. 

Eventually, it retreated back to a warm buzz under her skin, and she twitched and twisted in Steve's hold, oversensitive. He let her go, tongue withdrawing with a last, lingering lick, before swiping over his lips and pulling back into his mouth. He flexed his jaw -- it must be sore, he hadn't held back there. It was wet and shining with her discharge, and his eyes were dark, pupils completely blown, his lips puffy and reddened, and fuck, she couldn't not--

She shimmied down the bed, slid under him where he was pushing up on his elbows now, crunched her stomach and kissed him, deep and hard, licked at herself inside his mouth. She couldn't hold back a possessive little moan. Steve let her, opened up and gave her everything she wanted to take, lowered himself on top of her so she didn't have to wrench her neck to reach his mouth. His cock slid wet and digging in the crook between her thigh and her groin, and the sound he made-- Hell, Peggy knew she would do violent, terrible things to hear it again. 

She opened her eyes, still kissing Steve, caught Bucky's and lifted both eyebrows in a silent, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Bucky's grin was wolfish, all teeth, as he flicked the lube open again and poured some over his cock, making a mess of the sheets below. He tossed it aside, slicked it over the condom he'd already rolled on, while the fingers of his right hand still delved inside Steve's body, getting him ready. He held her gaze as he walked closer on his knees, pulled his fingers out, and while Steve was still grumbling in protest, pushed the head of his cock inside him.

Peggy couldn't see all that well from her position, but she felt it when Bucky breached Steve, felt his shocked exhale, the sway of his body against the intrusion, then the reverse push into it when his befuddled brain worked out what was happening. He moaned into her mouth as if he was dying; his jaw slackened, like he was opening himself for more than just Bucky's push inside his arse. His knees widened, too, and his back arched, and Peggy couldn't breathe for arousal when she thought of how he was presenting himself to Bucky, begging to be fucked. 

Bucky, when she thought to look at him, looked like nothing more than someone who had just been hit over the head with every one of his fantasies coming true. His gaze seemed blurred, like he was looking into the distance. Peggy didn't know what he saw, but the way he was looking down at Steve, lips pouting open, a flush riding his cheeks, he looked... Humbled. Like it was breaking him down; like he, too, would do any number of things to keep this, to be allowed to have it over and over again. 

Steve broke the kiss, panting hard, face slack and pink all over, eyes squeezed shut. He rocked on his knees with the pressure behind him, but always pushed back into it, arms working, shoulders flexing to take the strain. 

"Bucky," he said, voice low and thick, biting at his swollen lower lip, fingers tightening into the sheets as he bowed his head, submitting fully to what was being done to him. He could look like that sometimes, when Peggy was taking him apart, when it was too much for him to process, when all he could do was feel. His breath was hitching, and he was whimpering with every exhale, so close. Peggy wondered if he could come on Bucky's cock alone, or if it would break him to try.

"Please, please," Steve was saying. He probably didn't even know he was doing it; his arms were shaking violently now, and he was almost sobbing. Peggy looked at Bucky, waited for him to tell her what he wanted. This was his time, and if he was anything like her, he would be fiercely protective of it. It felt like ages before he caught her eye, but he nodded when he did, sweat pouring down his face. He looked like he was as close as Steve, like he couldn't possibly hold out much longer. 

So she reached lower, took Steve's cock into her hand -- so hard now, it must be hurting him a great deal, but he never reached for it, never made a move to bring this to an end. It was so much like Steve that it made her smile, no longer languid, caught in both their urgency, their race to completion. Steve cried out; his arms gave out, dumping him on top of her, burying his face in her shoulder, his exhales hot and damn over her skin. His body was tense as a wire, muscles jumping and flexing everywhere. She stroked along the length, tightened her fist, added that twist to the head that brought him undone. He was moaning on every huff of air his lungs expelled, and Bucky was fucking him hard now, no gentleness left, shoving himself inside him to the hilt over and over again. 

"Come on, Steve, come on," he was saying -- well, more like grunting, eyes wild, and Peggy sped up her strokes, faster, faster, "Come on, love, let go, can't you feel how much he wants you to," and then Steve was yelling like she had only heard him once or twice over the years, like he was being torn apart, and the slide of her hand was suddenly eased with his climax, his cock twitching in her grasp. 

"Oh thank fuck," Bucky grit out, and then he stilled, body a tight arch of relief, before his hips resumed pumping his release inside Steve's body, more on reflex now than any driving need. 

Steve's knees gave out a minute or so later, while Bucky was heaving like a freight train, curled over his back. He slipped out with a squelch that was audible, and then followed Steve down, collapsing to the side of them and flopping onto his back, working on catching his breath. 

Peggy had rarely needed to come more than just then. She wondered if they realised what they looked like together, what they did to her, to watch them take each other apart like that, to know that she was the one to revel in gluing the pieces back in order. She felt swollen, desperate, like she hadn't come all of fifteen minutes ago. 

"Jesus," she muttered, breathing hard through her mouth, spine arching a little without her meaning to. 

They both ignored her, the bastards. Well, not ignored exactly, but Steve still hadn't moved from where he'd fallen half on top of her, and Bucky merely let his head fall to the side so he could look her her, smirking and flicking an eyebrow.

"Hot shit, huh," he drawled, and Peggy was actually going to kill him. 

"Is _anyone_ going to come take care of this, or do I have to do it myself?" she enquired tartly.

Bucky's nose flared, and his lids fell, half covering eyes that sparkled dangerously.

"One of these days, you're going to show me that, and I'm going to take notes," he murmured. Peggy's breath hitched at the image, the promise. She bit her lip, hand falling to her cunt, fingers spreading her skin so she could get to her clit. Bucky's eyes dropped down with her hand. He licked his lips. 

"Get over here," he directed, pushing at Steve's shoulder until he rolled over Peggy and flopped down on the other side, still boneless, a goofy smile on his face. Peggy shifted over so that she was within Bucky's reach, waiting to see how he wanted to play this. It surprised her that she did -- usually, she knew what she wanted and how she wanted to get it, but there was something about Bucky that made her content to wait, to let him take the lead -- to take care of her needs. 

Strange, but not so strange that she didn't feel comfortable indulging the impulse. She grinned, raising one eyebrow. 

"Fucking Queen Peggy indeed," Bucky muttered, looking amused when she laughed delightedly. His hands reached for her, tugged her to kneeling, then guided one of her legs over his chest. 

"Come on, up here," he said, tugging her closer, until she was sitting over his face, his mouth scant millimetres from where she desperately needed it. He tipped her a wink, then closed his hands on her arse and drew her in, mouth closing on her clit, sucking hard.

She yelped, swayed, caught herself with her hands on the headboard, back arching, shoving into the touch. So good, how was it so fucking good? 

Bucky rumbled under her; the vibration made her see stars, made her arse flex, wanting something inside, either orifice would do. As if hearing her thoughts, two fingers breached her insistently, sliding inside her channel dripping with arousal. She bore down onto them, squeezed tight when they retreated, murmured in question when his hold shifted, when something smaller came back. 

He hummed, left hand patting her hip soothingly, then curling back around her thigh to keep her steady. The fingers came back, two like before, but then there was pressure behind her, too, and a slick, smaller digit pressed inside her anus, slow and patient. 

"Bloody hell," she rasped, clenching hard on both intrusions, trying to get them deeper inside her. Her cunt felt on fire; the suction never paused, and for a moment she actually could not tell what was up and what was down anymore. She felt mindless, a creature of desire and need and nothing more, fuck the rest, this, here, she would raze worlds for this.

"Bucky," she said, okay, begged, hands squeezing the headboard until the wood dug into her palms, and even that couldn't ground her, couldn't make the sensations retread. 

"Someday, I'm going to take you like this," Steve said, low and smooth like honey despite the rasp in his voice. "I'm going to slide inside you while he eats you out, and I'm going to fuck you until we both come on his face."

Bucky groaned, scraping a hint of teeth over her clit, fingers delving deeper, and she came like that, that image in her mind's eye, Bucky hot and eager underneath, Steve's eyes holding hers, blue like the summer sky never letting hers go. 

"Sweet Jesus," she muttered, falling off of Bucky and sprawling on her back on the bed, still twitching with aftershocks. "You are both trying to kill me."

Her head was almost in Steve's lap, and he carded one of his huge, strong hands through it, mussing the damp strands. "Not if we can help it," he said, smiling down at her. She was never again going to believe his innocent act.

Eventually, they would get up and clean off the mess they'd made of the bed and themselves. Eventually, there would be breakfast, and coffee, and Steve reading the Sunday papers and Bucky grumbling at his laptop, denouncing all WoW players as dunces and why couldn't he get Tasha to play with him anymore? Peggy would get some editing done on the most recent manuscript, and then indulge herself by poring over the first draft of the first chapter of the book Phil had tentatively started the day before. It was going to be slow, and easy, and they would undoubtedly descend into arguments sometimes, but she thought, if they had managed to survive the past month, well. Nothing that could come their way in the future could break them, what they had, what they were forging together. 

Honestly? She dared anyone to try.


End file.
